Luc learned Einstein's Theory of Relativity at Boston High School by building computer "thought experiments" that simulate objects moving at close to the speed of light. They observe these in one frame of reference and try to imagine what they would look like in another - out the window of a moving train, for instance.

Some people claim that human intelligence is largely determined by DNA. Education, they imply, is irrelevant. Luc and his friends are quietly proving them wrong.

I observed some students for several months as part of a National Science Foundation project that explored the use of computers for teaching math and science. Most of the time they worked in small groups building pictures in their heads, using the computer to transform them into live, interactive demonstrations. Every so often they seemed to breach some mental barrier reef and surface sputtering, clinging proudly to a new idea. Their smiles at these times clutch at the heart. They do not smile in school very often, these inner-city kids.

These introductory physics students - all but one Haitian or African American - had advanced steadily from simple problems to the notoriously difficult Twin Paradox, according to which someone who embarks on a round trip at high speed returns younger than her twin sister. They had followed the same path, encountered the same frustrations, and overcome the same obstacles as any students I have observed - and they had progressed at about the same rate.

Nevertheless, nearly every member of the class showed signs of severe educational deprivation - particularly in mathematics. Their knowledge of the decimal system was spotty, they were easily confused by numbers over one million, and they had difficulty understanding simple graphs. It is hardly surprising that they performed poorly on the tests society uses to evaluate them.

Years of neglect have left these students perilously at risk, but modern technology, combined with a new approach to learning, is having a remarkable effect on them. Rather than teaching them facts, the computer was changing the way they thought. It provided them with a manipulable, visual medium within which they could construct scenarios, puzzle over them, and alter them to answer "what if" questions. It freed them up to think without having to calculate, build without having to describe, plan without having to formalize. It rewarded "street smarts" over "book learning."

It is comfortable to believe that something as complex as mental ability could be reduced to a neat set of numbers. It appeals to our national preoccupation with quantifiable statistics while excusing our failure to educate a vast and growing number of our youth. But perhaps its most important function has been to insulate us from what might otherwise become the intolerable suspicion that in ceasing to believe that all men and women are created equal we have placed at risk the very foundation of our democracy.

One day I asked Luc, who had recently been informed that low SAT scores might destroy his chance for higher education, why he liked the Relativity class. He thought for a moment, then looked up at me with a shy smile. "I like it because we are doing things that most college students cannot do."

"How does that make you feel?" I asked.

"It makes me feel intelligent."

The confidence and self-esteem engendered by his success in this class may not prove sufficient for Luc to overcome the formidable obstacles he will face on the way to becoming a productive citizen in a knowledge-based economy.

But it's a start.

Paul Horwitz is senior scientist for the GenScope and BioLogica™ projects. Reprinted with permission from NSTA Publications. Copyright 1997 from Quantum, National Science Teachers Association, 1840 Wilson Blvd., Arlington, VA 22201-3000.

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